


Volunteer

by WonderstruckSwan



Category: The Hunger Games, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderstruckSwan/pseuds/WonderstruckSwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What I think would happen if d'Artagnan was picked for the Games</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I remember once Porthos punched me in the stomach, toppling me over and knocking the wind out of me. That's how I feel now. How on earth could this have happened? His name was in just one time. The odds had been entirely in his favour. But none of that mattered.

Aramis and Porthos are in complete and utter shock, they are both grey faced and their mouths hang open. I can see Treville out of the corner of my eye, his head bowed.

And finally, I see d'Artagnan making his way to the stage. Only twelve years of age. He is too young for this kind of ordeal. His father is only dead six months, and Aramis, Porhtos, Treville and I are all he has left. He was terrified of the thought of these games for months. I had always been the one to calm him, telling him over and over 'It's your first year, your name's only been in there once, they won't pick you.'

I can only imagine how he feels, to have the shreds of hope I gave him turn to dust.

Just as he reaches the stage, Richleu's hand held out for him, I snap to my senses. I begin pushing my way through the crowd, although they move away for me.

'D'Artagnan!' I call 'D'Artagnan!' Peacekeepers push me back, but I shove against their firm grip.

'I VOLUNTEER!'

Finally, the Peacekeepers release me. I can see d'Artagnan's eyes beg me to go back, but I will not abandon him.

'I volunteer as Tribute,' I pant. Finally, I run to d'Artagnan, placing my hands firmly on his shoulders.

'Athos, you can't go!' he begs, tears in his eyes.

'D'Artagnan, just go, please,' I tell him, trying to hide my shaking voice. He shakes his head and clings to me.

'No.'

'Please, I'm so sorry, but you have to go back.'

'NO!'

It's Porthos who lifts him off me. He gives me a slight nod, and Aramis taps my shoulder. D'Artagnan is still screaming

'NO ATHOS NO! YOU CAN'T GO PLEASE!' 

I can't bare to look back at him, but I do. Porthos has  put him down, but still has a firm grip on d'Artagnan's shoulder. Porthos and Aramis give me small nods of encouragement. Treville looks at me with what seems like a mixture of gratitude and...fear? And finally, d'Artagnan looks at me, begging me to let him go instead.

 

But I can't. I've already lost one brother to the Games. I won't lose another.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got asked to continue on with how d'Artagnan felt and I'm procrastinating, and I wanted to continue on a bit, so here you go.

Seeing Athos, bloody, beaten, exhausted, starved on TV is too much to bear. I want to run away and hide the last thing I want to see is him in the Games, where I should be. But I can’t stop watching, because this could be the last time I see him-no, it’s not. Athos will win the Hunger Games, and come back to District 12, like he should. I know he will.

Porthos is next to me on the tiny, beaten down sofa Athos managed to wrestle from a rubbish heap, Aramis on the ground. Treville is behind us. We all look anxiously, watching the Games unfold.

It’s down to the final five. Athos, Ninon the girl from Four, Marsac, the boy from Ten, Flea, the girl from Nine, and Milady de Winter, the girl from District Two.

Right now, Athos and Milady are locked in a cliff top battle. Athos is unrecognisable. His hair is matted with blood, his brown shirt is slashed, his face cut and bruised. Nowhere near the boy I said goodbye to.

_‘Listen, d’Artagnan, you don’t need to feel guilty’ he told me when I said goodbye, just me and him._

_‘It should be me!’_

_‘Listen, you are young. No child should have to go through this,’ he planted a soft kiss on my forehead ‘hey, where’s my brave little soldier?’ I gave him a small smile, despite the tears in our eyes._

_‘Thank you. For…..saving me. Just promise you’ll come home?’ Athos gave a strained, sad smile, knowing he’s promising what he can’t keep._

_‘See you in a few weeks, d’Artagnan._

Athos narrowly avoids Milady’s sword and slashes at her legs. She lets out a groan of pain, before growling and thrusting at him. Athos jumps out of the way, but stumbles, probably out of tiredness or wet ground, and falls to the ground.

He only makes it to his knees before she runs her sword into his chest.

I wait for him to get up, laugh at the tiny wound and finish her. He doesn’t. Instead, he screams and falls down again, clutching his chest. He lays there, Milady standing over him, before the loud sound of his agonised breaths and tortured groans fade.

The canon booms.

I can hear someone crying, and it takes me a while to work out it’s me. Porthos touches my shoulder, but his own hand is shaking. Aramis stares at the screen, his face expressionless, but his eyes filled with grief and rage. Treville buries his face in his hands.

I can’t stop the tears now; they come out in huge, gasping sobs I can’t contain.

‘Hey, come here,’ Porthos’ voice is gentle, but I don’t want comforting cuddles or to hear “I know, I know” or even someone to touch me sympathetically, the way Porthos is now. I want Athos.

I shake his hand off.

‘Leave me alone,’ I mutter.

‘D’Artagnan….’ Aramis begins.

‘LEAVE ME ALONE,’ I scream, before running to my bedroom, curling into a ball in the bed. Someone, I can’t see who, comes after me, but I hear Treville tell them to leave me be.

Athos was eighteen. One more year and he’d have been free. But he had to do the noble thing and save me. I know I shouldn’t feel guilt, he would have done it for Aramis or Porthos, not just me, but I still do.

His jacket is lying on the floor. I pick it up and bury my face inside it-it smells like wood smoke and wet grass and Athos.

I’ve stopped crying now; I’m just lying there, curled up with Athos’ jacket. His body is probably being shipped back home right now.

How am I going to manage without him?

I don’t just mean who will help me hunt, or tell me what to sell, or make up a list of what to buy. I mean who’s going to tell me that it’ll all be OK when I wake up after a nightmare, or take me for walks at night when I can’t sleep, or take me for wheelbarrow rides during the summer, or play fight with me around the kitchen, or make sure I always have that bit extra, despite what happens to him?

Sure I’ll have Aramis and Porthos being my big brothers, and Treville’s not going to abandon me, but that’s not the point.

Who’s going to be Athos now?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is sort of a prologue to the actual fic because I only got this idea now. Enjoy.

When I wake from a restless and uneasy sleep, I reach instinctively behind me for d’Artagnan, wanting to pull him close, feeling the warmth of his small body next to me, but the space is empty. I prop myself up and look over, he’s gone.

 _Of course,_ I think _nightmares._ Silently, I slip out of bed and put my jacket on for warmth. Aramis and Porthos are in the room next to us, and Treville is on the other side of the house, but it’s a small house with thin walls and I don’t want to wake them. They should sleep in while they can.

I pause outside our wardrobe and put my ear next to it. After a while of concentration, I can hear the soft, muffled sounds of a twelve year old crying.  This was the day of the Reaping, of course he was crying.

I open the door and crouch down. Sunlight streams through the window, so I can see coats and trousers hung up. And a small boot poking out from under them.

‘Hey,’ I whisper, soft and gentle, the way only d’Artagnan can make me.  Truth is I have had a soft spot for the kid ever since Treville was given custody of him after his father was killed in a mine explosion. Six months ago, I opened the door to the Mayor with a young boy, who had tears running down his face and staring at the ground. Once it was explained to Treville, he took him in without hesitation. I was there when he was presented with a medal for being brave in the face of his father’s death. He had stood tall that day, chin up, looking truly brave.

He doesn’t look like that now. I reach in trying to find his hand, but I find a strand of his hair instead.

‘Look kid,’ I say ‘you know I can’t get in there, so you have to come out.’ The sound of crying subsides and he speaks.

‘It’s me,’ he mutters ‘It’s me, they’ll pick me.’ After a while, he crawls out and is kneeling at the door of the wardrobe. I see his face streaked with tears, his eyes are red. He also looks like he’s been up for a while. Last night, I heard him whimpering and muttering and he was twitching and kept waking up and needing me to get him back to sleep.

‘Hush now, come here,’ I pull him into my arms and sit down on the bed, where he breaks down again ‘It’s just a dream, just a dream. You’re safe now.’

‘Just close your eyes, the sun is going down,’ I sing softly into his hear. I don’t sing, except for once when he was very ill last winter. It’s something only he can make me do. ‘You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now, come morning light……’

‘You and I’ll be safe and sound,’ we finish.

‘It’s your first year, d’Artagnan,’ I tell him ‘your name is in there once. They’re not going to pick you.’ He wriggles in my arms, so that his head is nuzzling into my chest.

‘What about you?’ he whispers. I know what he means. At eighteen, my name is in the ball seven times, but it’s up to forty two after I took the Tessare.

‘Don’t you worry about me,’ I tell him, kissing the side of his head gently. I put him back in the bed, despite his protests.

‘I’m not a child,’ he mutters. I smile and lay down next to him.

‘I know’ I say ‘get some sleep, you.’ I pull him in; he’s still trembling, or simply shivering. He puts his head into the crook of my neck.  Here I know he’s safe within the walls of our house, in my arms, but I can’t protect him forever.

But I sure as hell will try.


End file.
